A Girl Who Does Everything
by YACOV
Summary: Phoebe Heyerdahl is a one-woman research team, university department, and diplomatic delegation. It's now ten years since she left Queens, and Phoebe has found some time in her hectic schedule and decided to visit. What will she find waiting for her?
1. A Girl Who Does Everything

**A GIRL WHO DOES EVERYTHING**

Back-story: This takes place approximately eighteen years after the time-period of the show (so the kids are now about twenty-seven). I have borrowed the outline of "The Patakis" to fill in some of the back-story with Phoebe and the other central female characters, as well as her relationship with Gerald. About ten years before this story, Phoebe moved back to Kentucky and she and Gerald haven't seen each other since.  
There's a fair amount of drama tied into that event that will be touched on later.

I made Phoebe a real 'doing-anything-and-everything person', but her official employer is the Japan International Cooperation Agency.

On with the story.

…oh and: Craig Bartlett… 'intellectual' property… fill in the spaces however you please.

* * *

_Please remain seated until the captain has turned off the 'fasten seatbelt' sign. If you are continuing on to further destinations from JFK please have your boarding passes out and ready once you enter the terminal. From all members of the crew, we'd like to thank you for flying with us. Welcome to New York and have a nice day._

Phoebe Heyerdahl removed her glasses for a moment and wiped them with her handkerchief while she waited. Some of the other passengers had already begun standing up and shifting about their seats as they extricated their briefcases and duffel bags from under the seats in front of them or the overhead compartments. Phoebe was feeling tense too, but she had studied crowd behavior in airplanes and knew the best course of action was to do what the flight attendant said and wait until the plane had taxied before trying to muscle through the fray and get off the plane.

_On Crowds and Chaos_: _Group behavior of passengers_… she'd coauthored the paper with the great Dr. Steven Strogatz himself.

As Staten Island natives jostled between Italian business executives and Central European gap-year kids for luggage, and the infant passengers began to exercise their lungs at the sudden jostle of the cabin brought on by the landing, Phoebe remained seated in her small window seat, safely separated from the tumult that was erupting in the cabin. Phoebe was small enough that the potential of additional leg room – or rather illusion of additional leg room – did not compel her to take an aisle seat when offered back on the flight out of FCO, thus she could remain in her little corner near the shaded window while the portly, and elderly, Roman businessman (and self-proclaimed mogul) next to her pushed and prodded from his aisle seat without gaining any room to escape the confines of his seat and enter the press of humanity in the aisle he had so liberally used for stretching his legs.

After another four minutes, the seat belt sign turned off, and following the lessons of her observations throughout the dozens of flights she'd made over the years, Phoebe remained in her seat an additional three minutes and twenty seconds to allow the first rows to begin de-boarding, while the maelstrom of activity around her began to organize itself into a semblance of a patient queue of debarking passengers. As the two elderly passengers three rows ahead managed to extract their luggage, Phoebe stood up and arched her back to relieve the stress of the eight hour journey and pulled her side bag up from underneath the seat in front of her. She took a few calming breaths, to re-familiarize her legs with standing and her heart with pumping a little harder to get enough blood to all extremities. By the time Phoebe had increased her circulation to its desired levels, the passengers immediately in front of her had begun moving, and her traveling companion had at last begun to squeeze out of his confinement. Like clockwork, Phoebe fell into line behind the elderly Italian and slowly made her way off the plane, giving a nod of thanks to the flight attendants that stood at the door saying their 'thanks'.

The rest of the arrival procedure was quite standard. Phoebe came to the carousel at a leisurely pace, giving time for the rolling contraption to begin turning and bags to make their way on. After taking her duffel she made her way to Customs, her declaration forms and passport already in hand, and chose a line with three superannuated travelers. She found it a more pleasing experience to be in these slower lines where the customs official was setting their mind into a mode of patience in dealing with slower people while still holding the reserve and desire to be as expedient as possible whenever possible. By the time Phoebe made it to the official, she was neither rudely hustled, nor were her documents handled sluggishly.

Everything Phoebe did, she did with purpose and calculation. It was the reason she could do all the things she could do.

Today, however, Phoebe had set aside enough time between her commitments to do something she had not done in almost ten years.

She would pay a visit to Queens.

* * *

Note the button just below these last few sentences. Clicking it and writing something will not result in any unpleasantness, so please feel free to try it out.


	2. Queens

Disclaimer: Craig Bartlett had some great characters and here's how I picture a story about two of them.

My thanks to 'acosta perez iose ramiro' and 'loonytunecrazy' for being the first to review.

* * *

Her belongings left in the hotel room, her flight clothes shed, her body washed, and a little life restored to her limbs through controlled breathing and personal massage had imbued Phoebe with the vitality needed to overcome the drowsiness brought on by jet lag and enabled her to briskly make her way down the streets she'd known in childhood. Queens had a hum and a life among its people that didn't seem to change, no matter how the world spun. Phoebe had seen so much change in her short life that it was at once both soothing and unnerving to find something of her past so unblemished – well, unchanged at least.

The buses had some different graffiti – as did the walls – police sirens went on and off with much the same regularity they always did so long ago, low-clearance cars drove by, leaving a stereotypical hip-hop beat in their wake… and horns honked at pedestrians that became so lost in their thoughts that they entered crosswalks that had red lights.

Phoebe shook herself from her reverie and rather than attempt to assuage anyone for the undue stress and surprises caused by her inattentiveness just hustled across the street before she caused any more trouble. She found herself at the corner of a very tall apartment complex. Looking up at the top floors, the penthouse suites, she recognized it was the same building she'd lived in with her parents the whole time they'd been in Queens.

_So long ago… so many things lost and gone…_

Looking up at the windows of the old apartment, Phoebe found herself transported back to the years of elementary school and junior high. She recalled her friend Helga, whom she hadn't spoken to in close to five years now, but whose poetry and essay anthologies still occupied a place on Phoebe's nightstand wherever she went. Phoebe could remember her bossy, opinionated, and often times callous friend from P.S. 118 and the evolution she'd seen in Helga as she matured to become a less stubborn, more open-minded, though still anti-social young woman.

_Crushing on Arnold to the end._ Phoebe thought.

Helga had gone to Columbia University to expand her skills as a writer, but after graduating moved to Hungary to get in touch with the roots of her most distant family. She and Phoebe had done the best they could to keep in touch throughout that time, but with Helga disappearing every few weeks when she got on one of her insatiable writing binges, and Phoebe being – Phoebe – it was hard to keep each other in their respective loops.

The third member of their adolescent trio, Lila, had gone on to Ithaca and studied Linguistics before eventually settling on becoming a drama teacher in the inner-city. Phoebe hadn't spoken to Lila in a long time and wasn't even sure where she'd be able to find her old friend now. Phoebe could remember Lila as being a melting pot of traits that were otherwise exclusively divided between her and Helga. Like Phoebe, Lila had been intelligent – salutatorian of her own high school class – somewhat demure, and exceedingly polite. Like Helga, she had a feminist's spirit and a fair amount of 'moxie' and no-nonsense attitude when it came to certain issues – though she was not as aggressive in her stances as her blonde friend. What she brought to the group that her fellow girls had lacked was an engagingly social outlook. While Phoebe was content to pass the time in the quiet company of her two best friends, and Helga would've been just as comfortable alone, Lila had shaken up their lives and gotten them to go out, take risks and meet people. Sometimes those outings had turned into the misadventures the girls had endured with their guy friends in earlier years, but the experiences had been rewarding, and memorable.

Feeling the memories come flooding back as she stood in front of the building where she had spent so much time with those two great friends brought Phoebe only a little solace. Most of her felt only pain at being near this place where so many bonds were severed.

_It was here when we were last together._ She thought.

Phoebe decided to continue on past the old structure and not allow the memories to cause her to become melancholy. She walked down towards the old tenant house where her blonde friend Arnold had lived. Seeing the green edifice with boarded up windows, and police tape over the door brought her up short. Turning to a man with a brown coat and a black bowler hat walking by, Phoebe asked what had happened to the old couple who used to run the boarding house. She received little more than a shrug and a vague answer of _time_.

Phoebe turned away from the man and felt saddened by that answer. It meant either that Arnold's grandparents, the spry old Phil and Gertie, were dead or worn down from their work in keeping the house and were just up and gone. Either way, two people that Phoebe had grown to think of as permanent fixtures of her old neighborhood were gone. A few tears found their way to Phoebe's eyes, but none rolled down her cheeks. Her father's emotional stoicism had given her a great deal of experience in how to hide her feelings, and though she was technically alone, she didn't feel the need to cry.

Phoebe puttered down the street a little ways, just letting her autopilot from childhood take control of her feet and lead her wherever it chose. She glanced at her watch and saw that it getting close to 19:00. The selected travel victuals she'd brought with her on the plane had not been intended to fuel her beyond the time spent on the plane. Now she needed to grab some dinner. She scanned around to see if there as a sub-shop or delicatessen she could stop at for a sandwich. She walked on, continuing to peer around, and passed a chain-link fence that received a fast-driving basketball as she passed.

She shrieked at the discordant ring and espied a tall African-American man come up to grab the ball and toss it back to his teammates further back in the side-street court. Phoebe regained her composure quickly and out of routine straightened her light overcoat.

"Hey sorry about that," he apologized. "My game's a little off today, I didn't mean to…"

Ever so delicately he squinted to sharpen his view of the girl he'd just startled, and with the sudden break in his apology, she in turn looked up to see him. Though she had imagined, and on some level intended, to see that face again, the suddenness of the encounter threw her off her balance.

"Gerald? My gosh, Gerald!"

"Phoebe Heyerdahl," Gerald Johanssen declared as he walked over to the door of the chain-link fence. "As I live and breathe!"

Gerald shut the gate behind him as some of his teammates began making catcalls. He paid them no heed as he walked up to Phoebe, whose mouth still hung open in wonder. As he drew himself up in front of her, the disparity between the cool boy Phoebe had so adored during her childhood and this living, breathing Gerald Johanssen became more and more apparent. Where the old Gerald from years ago had been thin and wiry, this man had a lean, yet well muscled physique that was showing through his slightly drenched t-shirt. Gerald from way back when had been of slightly above average height among his peers, while this man stood at close to two meters; a veritable giant next to the wispy, 1.59-meter, Phoebe Heyerdahl. His old style Kid 'n Play hair had been replaced with a close-cropped Jheri curl. To top off the transformation to adulthood, his mouth was ringed with a well-kept goatee. And his voice, still rasping when she had heard him last now came in a deep and resonant tenor-baritone that was very soothing to listen to.

When the two embraced, Phoebe couldn't deny feeling as though she were being hugged by a man akin to the gladiators that had trained, slept, eaten and perhaps died beneath the frescoes she'd recently been researching in Rome. If not his size, the perspiration on his body alone gave her mind enough to make the association.

"What are you doing here Pheebs?" He asked as he stepped back. "It's been years."

Phoebe took a moment to take stock of where she was. Looking at the distance between the streets, recalling how many times she'd walked this street – and in whose company – she realized that her feet had led her straight in the direction of the old Johanssen family residence.

"I was… in the neighborhood." She said at last.

"Why didn't you call or send me an alert, anything? I'd 've made myself a little more presentable." He directed his fingers up and down his front where the sweat from shooting hoops had left a T-shaped stain across his front.

Phoebe giggled as she gave him a sideways up and down glance. "Well… you're not exactly attired to meet the Queen, but I wouldn't say this an unflattering presentation." The flirting came so naturally to Phoebe she didn't even register that this was flirting. When she had talked with Gerald in her younger years this was how they frequently bantered. It was like picking up an old bicycle that she hadn't ridden in ages.

"Well I've been keeping in shape." He diffidently accepted before returning to his serious, but excited disposition. "But Pheebs, seriously, it's been forever. How've you been?"

"I'm doing well…"

"Hey Gerald! Save the girls for off-time, we need you back here man!" came the irreverent call of some of the players back on the court.

"Yeah brother, this here's the 'ball court', man. You take care a' yo' booty calls after we win."

Phoebe bit back her tongue and closed her mouth in a gesture of withdrawal. The antagonism from the players on the court was palpable and she had no interest in riling them.

"C'mon honey, you can have the Jo-Hans' man in 'jo hands' later. We in the middle of a game here." One of the other guys shouted.

Gerald, normally a tolerant man whenever his teammates made catcalls to passersby had never had any patience with anyone who cut into his time with Phoebe. Towards the end of elementary school, even Arnold was superseded by Phoebe when it came to identifying who Gerald devoted time and attention to. And after Arnold left, there just wasn't anyone who could compare. Gerald's feelings now were as they had been then.

"Hey man, SHUT UP! This is my best friend you're talking to!" was his rejoinder.

"Gerald man c'mon, we're waitin' on you. Let's get back to the game."

Gerald looked back at Phoebe to show her that he had already made his decision about where he was going, and back to the court wasn't it.

"Man, I'm out. I gotta go home. Catch you guys later."

This was met with even more derisions and invectives.

"Gerald you can't walk out on a game."

"These your brothers, man."

"Bros before hoes, Gerald."

Gerald quickly started walking down the street, guiding Phoebe by the arm before the comments grew any more lewd. He wasn't ashamed of the friends he hung out with, but Phoebe didn't deserve to hear any of that trash talk, and Gerald was enough of a gentleman to not allow her to be subjected to it. Only when they were another block away did Gerald slow the pace and relax his grip on Phoebe's elbow. Phoebe held her elbow tenderly. Gerald's grip had been firm, though not in the least bit painful, but Phoebe resented being hustled or directed any faster or slower than the pace she set for herself.

"I'm sorry about that Pheebs. Those guys aren't bad, they're just serious about the game and they get punchy if anything interrupts them. Forget about them."

Phoebe was busy deciding whether or not she really wanted to forget about the incident. The catcalls had been offensive and being referred to as 'booty' was not something that flattered her or bolstered her self-esteem. Knowing that Gerald spent time in the company of such men did not endear her to him now. Her studies in societal dynamics had included focus into the effects of groups on individual behaviors and how the loner in a group could be influenced by their peers to abandon their intrinsic norms. Gerald had always been a kind, upstanding boy when they were kids, her own father had said as much, but a different environment could change a person and make them into something entirely different from the person they appeared to be in a prior setting.

"Never mind, Gerald," she deflected. "I didn't mean to interrupt your game…"

"Forget about the game Pheebs!" Gerald waved off the apology without a moment's hesitation. "You're in town now. That comes before work, friends, and especially before anything to do with basketball."

At that Phoebe had to smile. Even the cool, level, and unperturbed Gerald Johanssen put all his guys things on hold whenever something came up that involved her.

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked.

She smiled. "No, I was actually looking for something when your ball nearly hit me."

Her face immediately went beet red and she wanted to begin burying herself in the sidewalk right then and there. Phoebe's mastery of English was equal to her skills with Japanese, German Latin, French, and most other romance languages, and she never made such a serious verbal blunder around anyone she dealt with professionally. That she had made it inside of a few minutes, and few words between herself and Gerald did not bode smooth sailing in further conversation. The slight snicker on his face showed that Gerald had not missed her little linguistic faux pas, but he spoke as though he hadn't heard it at all.

"Well great. I haven't had mine either. Now come on, let's head to my place so I can clean myself up, and then we'll head out to get something to eat."

Phoebe nodded her assent and started walking down the street next to Gerald. Already she had calculated that there was a likelihood that she was going to need a more modern resident of the neighborhood if she were to find some place to eat at this hour, especially since any restaurants would likely be overbooked with reservations or overflowing with customers so late in the day. And aside from the logic of this arrangement, she was too swept up in the thrill of seeing Gerald again to even consider the sense in parting from him now.

_And I find him here. Only a short walk from where we were last together._ She thought.

* * *

I finally figured out how to divide the story text from my messages, so if nothing else that should improve the layout of the story.

Please review, and feel free to suggest how you'd like the story to progress.


	3. Reunited

**REUNITED**

A little literature to start off your week. I've always been thrilled when Monday rolls around and one of the stories I'm following has a new chapter. It's a great pick-me-up.

As a tip of the hat to the change (or lack thereof) of Bartlett's characters through time, Timberly's status in this passage is left ambiguous. In the show she was really the only character that aged, so since her progression through time does not follow that of the other characters, her character is given a less definitive age. Hope that doesn't bother anyone.

* * *

Phoebe fell into step beside Gerald as he made his way up a side street, and she quickly noticed that they weren't going in the direction of his family's old apartment. She scanned the buildings they passed, but didn't dare speak after her last embarrassing statement. Mercifully, Gerald broke the uncomfortable silence and answered the question he knew she was meaning to ask.

"I moved out of the old place about five years ago. My own place is over here on 70th. Just a studio, but it's become a home."

Phoebe found her voice again and cleared her throat slightly.

"Do you see your parents much these days?" She herself hadn't seen her father in close to two years, and if her mother didn't send her so many messages or try to use streaming images Phoebe felt she might have forgotten what her mother looked like.

Gerald's face fell. "Dad died about three years ago, and Jamie… he's been trying to keep the place in order for Mom and Timberly, but he just doesn't want my help. Big-brother-macho attitude and all. Also the fact that I finished college and he didn't… that's a pretty sore spot for him."

"Oh my goodness. What happened? Your dad I mean?"

"Melanoma. We never even knew it was there until his body started shutting down and... yeah it came on pretty fast. But he didn't suffer really."

"Gerald I'm so sorry." She reached out a hand to place on his shoulder. She hesitated only a moment, figuring that he had probably received platitudes and apologies galore since it happened. Phoebe knew from studies conducted on people in grieving that independent, single men who lost at something they had no control over hated receiving pity. Still, this was her friend, and this was her showing remorse for his loss and offering comfort if he had any need of some.

_Studies be damned._

They walked on like that for a ways, and when Phoebe grew nervous that the whole experience of seeing her best friend again would be soiled by this melancholy she tried to change the subject.

"What about your brother? What happened there?" Phoebe knew Gerald's parents to be sticklers for their kids' good comportment, and though Mr. Johanssen had always seemed a little more preoccupied with the family expenditures, he and Mrs. Johanssen had always pushed their children to excel. The fact that one of them, the oldest no less, had not finished college, suggested trouble in the family. It was also a potential trouble spot as far as conversation, but one that was clearly affecting Gerald's mind.

"He had a scholarship to play basketball for CUNY, but it didn't pan out."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But can't you even see him or th_e _rest of the family? That seems unjust that you should be shut out just because your brother is insecure about himself in contrast to your accomplishments."

"It's all right Pheebs," he said. Turning to face her sympathetic-yet-scrutinizing face, Gerald quaked and was forced to renege on that statement. "OK I admit it's not all right. It's just what it is. I still go for holidays and we put tension aside as much as we can when I do. He's not openly hostile. Not like I've been exiled or given a restraining order. Jamie and I just try to keep our distance, talk over the phone once in a while about life that doesn't involve work. It's actually not so bad, just gotta be a little cautious. I guess it's a bit like talking to someone who got paralyzed; you can't discuss dancing or running, that sort of thing. Besides that, Mom's doing OK, although no men in her life since Dad. She seems happy knowing I'm doing well."

"What about Timberly?"

"I don't seem to know what goes on with that girl. Early twenties, thereabouts, a few boyfriends I've met that are no good for her... she catches onto that fact soon enough and then goes and finds another boyfriend that's usually no better. She studies, she works, she gets fired, she quits, she drops out, she goes back... kinda hard to keep up with her, but she's a real go-getter. No doubt about it. Anyway, here we are."

Following a few minutes of climbing a fire-escape hatch, and once nearly slipping off the rungs, Phoebe found herself seated on a well-worn couch in the middle of a small, yet lived-in and reasonably well-maintained studio. She could see the charm in such a place. It definitely seemed to say 'I live here'. Gerald had excused himself to the one bathroom and she could hear the dull thudding of water striking the walls of the shower stall. Phoebe busied herself by opening her day-timer and looking through her list of appointments the next morning:

- 9:00: Breakfast and meeting with the curator from the Noguchi Museum,

- 12:00: Lunch and meeting with the board members from the Hall of Science, and

- 18:00: Lecture at QMA about her work in Rome followed by dinner with the curator and the chief benefactors of the museum.

Phoebe's mind went into a whirl of calculations about bus schedules, taxis, and necessary outfits she'd need to make seamless work of the day. She'd need to walk herself from her hotel to the Noguchi by around 8:40 after consuming approximately 350 calories of complex carbohydrates (oatmeal would be optimal) and the caffeine from a single cup of her green tea to allow her enough energy to engage the curator in proper conversation. She'd need to wear a navy-blue overcoat and a white undershirt that crossed from her neck down to her waist to suggest a kimono and emphasize her Japanese heritage. The hem of her skirt had to extend just three centimeters below her knees to be both adequately proper and allow her full mobility. Shoes… all of this Phoebe rattled off in her head with absolute mechanical precision and the attentiveness of an inspection officer planning how to outfit troops for a parade. She thought of outfit, posture, hairstyle, glasses, perfume, even the kind of watch and on which wrist. Phoebe had studied every nuance of professional meetings and knew secrets and techniques to enhance her effect on people's decisions. Phoebe was not at all provocative in her manners and never allowed any parts of her anatomy to be unnecessarily exposed or used to entice lecherous thoughts. She thought of herself as something of a post-modern geisha: she cajoled, flattered, and encouraged support and comfort with words, behavior and appearance, but she was never indecent, or wooing in a sexual sense.

Phoebe was so absorbed in her thoughts and plans that she didn't notice her host emerge from the bathroom in a white short-sleeve polo shirt and slightly faded jeans over a pair of worn-in Converse® sneakers. He stood over her, just admiring her diligence at her work until she looked up and noticed him standing there. Her eyes traced him up and down and she gave a deep smile and a nod.

He grinned at her inspection. "Well I'm glad you approve. Shall we?" He offered his elbow and she stood to take it.

"Where are we going?"

"There's a nice little place three blocks down with some great small eats. Opened about a year ago – nice fusion of tapas and Mid-East food snacks. Plus a bar if you'd like something to drink."

"Sounds great. Let's go."

* * *

After a short dinner and some light conversation between bites, Phoebe found herself seated with Gerald at the bar. Knowing she had a full day of meetings and presentations the next day she had a plan for how to indulge in some social drinking without suffering a particularly serious hangover the next day. She popped two Chaser® tablets in her mouth and then told the bartender to provide her with a regular alcoholic drink to begin with, and to begin decreasing the amount of alcohol in her drinks with each successive order. She even gave him a sheet of acceptable volumes of alcohol and was very strict on the precise brand of alcohol being served. Gerald endured it all with his head in his hand and a smirk on his lips. The bartender for his part had been gracious enough to assent to Phoebe's rather unusual requests, partly out of his fond familiarity with her male associate, and mostly out of his desire to receive the prodigious tip she promised if he did as she asked. As the drinks were set on the counter in front of them, Phoebe lifted hers off her coaster and held it a short distance in front of her chin.

"What shall we drink to?" she asked.

Gerald furrowed his brow and screwed his lips into an expression that suggested serious consideration as he picked up his own drink.

"How about we drink to this," he said, looking between the glasses and his companion.

Phoebe cocked an eyebrow. "We're drinking to drinks?"

"To us _having_ drinks," Gerald corrected. "To two friends being able to come together in the city at night, and while away the late hours in spirits and stories."

"OK, I'll drink to that," she assented.

The resounding clink of glasses was followed with a lengthy sip. Phoebe wasn't sure where the conversation would go after her lips left the glass, so she drew out her sip for quite a while, emptying her glass of about half its contents before she stopped imbibing. She took a closed-lipped swallow to clear her mouth and throat of any residual liquid, and lightly cleared her throat to speak.

"So you said you're teaching at P.S. 118 now?"

"Just subbing, but yeah." He took a second swallow of his drink and exhaled as he put the glass back on his coaster. "I do some work with the inner-city coaching staff, ya' know, organize games, run basketball training camps, do some outreach here and there. But most of the work is in the high schools. Oh, and this term I finally set up an extracurricular class in Storytelling, so I have steady work every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon."

"Passing on all of… oh who was it… Fuzzy Slippers' urban legends?" She teased as she took another sip from her drink.

Gerald grinned. "That's part of it, but I throw in some of my own stories now and again. I really like telling the kids about when we grew up. Man those were the days... all those things Arnold and I did, and all the people and events we got involved with: Stoop Kid, Pigeon Man, Chocolate Boy, Big Caesar... I tell you Pheebs, if someone took the time to put all my stories in writing, the book would be longer than the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ combined."

"So many memories," Phoebe mused as she sipped her drink. "Do the stories have much meaning to the kids these days? Has Stoop Kid become Stoop Man? Big Caesar still out there in the lake?"

"Stoop-Man's a bit of a wanderer now." Gerald picked up his glass, but looked down into the swirling liquid without stopping to drink. "Been globe-hopping to all the great stoops Arnold showed him all those years ago. And as for Big Caesar... well some legends are just going to remain legends I guess. As for Pigeon Man, I've heard some kids say they've seen him. They talk about him as something of a spirit now ya'know? He's there one moment among a huddled group of pigeons, all cooing to him as he dispenses seeds, and then you turn away a moment and when you look again, fewer birds and no Pigeon Man. It's like he just evaporates."

She smiled and swirled the contents in her own glass. "What about the more fixed and immutable things we had growing up? Li-i-ke… Green's Meats and Mrs. Vitello's florist shop? Are they still there?"

"Mr. Green is still in the same spot, and grumpier than ever, but he still cuts the best meats around. Mrs. Vitello's health failed her a few years ago and she left for a sunnier climate, but I haven't heard from her for about a year now. I was working in the shop up until it closed about six months ago."

"What about Arnold's grandparents? I passed by the old boarding house..." she left the statement hanging.

"Yeah, Phil beat his family age limit after going through his whole "come 91 years I'm gonna die" shtick. We had another prepared funeral with black suits and music, and the guy waited in his casket for three hours before we convinced him that he might as well enjoy life until his time finally came. Heh... never a dull day with them. Anyway, both of them took off in a float plane a few years back. They were flying down to San Lorenzo to be with Arnold and his parents, but I haven't heard from them since. I don't even know if they made it. Knowing Arnold's grandma they probably took a side journey to cross the Atlantic and have some other crazy adventure."

"Years ago? Don't you talk to Arnold anymore?"

Gerald hung his head.

"Not for a while. He moved to San Lorenzo permanently after high school, and we kept in touch for at first, but after a while he just started getting caught up in the 'messiah prophecy' that the people gave him. I think the guy was starting to think he really was something like the son of the 'molten earth' or something crazy. Guy 's always been bold. Then about four years ago, he and I are video-casting, and this cute San Lorenzan girl comes up in the middle of the talk and starts cuddling and feeling him all over..."

"Arnold! Really?" Phoebe was shocked that the one boy in school who she remembered as being just as logically inclined and grounded as she was would be in such a relationship. She found it a little humorous too.

Gerald continued with his story.

"Yeah, and I told him a little while later that I just didn't feel right about her. Something about the girl just screamed 'groupie'. Like she just wanted him cause he was 'messiah boy' or what have you. That got him started on a long tirade about how the relationship was based on 'love', 'she doesn't believe in that junk' and how 'I wouldn't understand'. I took a little offense, lost my temper, we stayed quiet a few weeks, and then when we talked again the argument had devolved into that classic 'if you can't be happy for me, then maybe we just shouldn't be friends anymore' tact. I tried to just move past it and keep in touch with him and talk about other things, kinda like what I gotta do with Jamie now, but I swear Pheebs the guy had gone off the deep end."

"So you're not speaking to him?"

"I sent him an email four years ago and said if he was ever in Queens to look me up. We haven't talked since."

Phoebe was feeling worse and worse with making Gerald tell her these stories. As much as she wanted to hear how life had progressed without her, and as much as she wanted to know both the good and the bad, she could see that these experiences had left some serious scars on Gerald:

His father was dead...

His older brother resented him for his success...

His best childhood friend had cut off contact over a spat about love...

She had...

Phoebe hiccuped and tried to back up the conversation to a lighter topic.

"So, um, Mrs. Vitello left you the flower shop? You said it was open even after she left?"

Gerald smiled to show his gratitude with her decision to steer the conversation somewhere else. "Well she considered leaving the shop in my care, but I guess she remembered that little spat that Arnold and I got into when we were nine and how bad a job I did running the business alone. She ended up leaving me in charge of the finances, but she gave the uh… keys-to-the-kingdom", he emphasized the expression by making a quotation sign with his index and middle fingers, "to Eugene."

"Eugene? Kind, clumsy Eugene? Well he did seem like the kind of person who would enjoy working with living things and flashy colors. But do I detect a little bit of resentment in that tone Mr. Johanssen?" She teased.

He grinned mischievously. "A little. Just a bit a' frustration from realizing that I'm not good at something. I don't know, Pheebs, I'm good with numbers and keeping 'the books', and my sense of taste in art is fine when it comes to speeches and written works, but anything visual... I'm just out of my element. It sucks having to admit you're no good at something."

"Well, we've all got strengths and weaknesses." She put a placating hand on his shoulder.

"Hmm..." he grinned, "except Phoebe Heyerdahl, Madame Master of all trades."

She rolled her eyes and set her drink down. "Gerald I am not a master of any trade. And frankly I resent being categorized as such. I work hard and do many things and the hard work pays off, that's all."

"Ah Pheebs," he whined as he put his drink down as well. "When are you going to lay off the modesty act and accept that you're a genius?"

"As soon as you lay off the excessive compliments so I won't have to be modest."

"OK, how 'bout we recap on the last… three months. You said you were in Rome for three months so let's stick with that one timeframe. What were you up to?"

"I told you, studying Ancient Roman art in the transition between the Old Republic and the emerging Empire."

"Mm-hmm," he nodded slowly with a mischievous grin, "And was that what first brought you there?"

"Well no... I started out wanting to improve my literary knowledge about Virgil and Ovid and some other famous Roman writers after one of my superiors at the Agency wanted me to get acquainted with one of the Italian delegations he's associated with."

"And how long did you spend on that little bit of study?"

"...I had most of my materials in the first three weeks, but I kept gathering additional materials over the whole trip!" She defended.

Gerald grinned and nodded very slowly with lightly closed eyes. "And then?"

"And then I thought I would better understand the authors, and the cultural mentality, if I understood the period and what it grew into. So I started reading Scaevola and Frugi, and then graduated to later Imperial works by Suetonius to see transitions. It's not like I published any papers about any of it."

He shut his eyes as his grin grew even wider. He had to turn his head away for a moment before turning back to speak. "And how many papers on that subject did you have in the works before you left?"

Phoebe felt herself sliding into a corner, but seeing no alternatives just stuck with the truth. "...Three, but rough drafts, all of them. And only one even has a hope of making it into any historical journal!"

"Ri-i-i-ght..." Gerald drawled and grinned as he took another sip of his drink. "...and then?"

Phoebe screwed up her lip and with her eyebrows raised in a very haughty position delivered her reply. "_Then_, I was asked by another scholar to assist in writing a paper on the transition of Roman Art, and that was what I did the rest of my time there."

Gerald grinned again. "So just the writing then?... You weren't needed for anything else?"

"Well..." Phoebe's composure began to waver. He was getting to her, there was no denying it. "Well, the project leader was using forensic scientists to analyze the works she looked at – a lot of frescoes, statuary, ceramics and weapons... so I was employed to work with those teams too."

"And I'm sure that just involved looking things over with magnifying glasses." He teased.

Phoebe knew she was cornered between honesty and modesty, but refused to yield either stance. "Well I learned how to use a lot of spectrophotometers in college, and I part-timed in some research laboratories in grad school to stay fresh with the new techniques. So yes I proved myself useful in that part of the work too. But I'm not an expert – I was practically another lab-tech, really."

Gerald's smile never wavered for a second. "And after this little art lecture you're giving tomorrow I'm sure you're going to just sit back and take it easy for a little while then, huh?" He was having as much trouble hiding his snickers as she was keeping her face from turning pink.

"I'm going back to Kentucky to see mother and spend some time with her and family," she defended, but her resolve began to waver. "…and while I'm there I'm going to be writing a report about economic reform and its effect on middle American life... for Newsweek."

Gerald made no more pretense of a straight face and broke out in a rich and hearty laugh. He planted his head on the counter and chuckled through the varnish of the wooden bar.

Phoebe reprimanded him at once, casting her eyes around to make sure they weren't drawing attention. "Gerald, will you stop that. You're embarrassing me!"

Gerald sat up and continued to shake with humor. "Pheebs, the fact that you even have the time in your day to blink with all that going on..." and there he fell into laughing again.

Phoebe rolled her eyes and emptied her wine glass. She signaled the bartender to fill it again while Gerald sat there chuckling and Phoebe just looking at him as she shook her head in disapproval. Seeing that the humor had degraded into something that only he was taking pleasure in, Gerald backed down.

"OK, OK, I'll stop."

"Thank you." Phoebe replied with a huff.

* * *

The first round of drinks was finished, and a second came out. Gerald had to stifle a grin as he watched Phoebe gauge her drink, swirling the contents, tasting it lightly to detect the amount of alcohol, and relaxing her face only when she found the drink was unequivocally within the limits she had requested.

"So what are you looking to do besides all your coaching?" She asked.

"Well, I was thinking of applying to coach the Knicks next season," Gerald began jocularly. "But I'd probably end up getting a contract with the Celtics, and I'm just not self-loathing enough to handle that. The Harlem Globetrotters though…"

Phoebe nearly sprayed her beverage as she worked to contain her giggling. Gerald pretended offense by crossing his arms.

"Oh you think I'm not qualified? Not good enough to stand on the sidelines in the Garden or the Fleet Center?"

Phoebe composed herself as best she could and got her snorting under control enough to speak. "Well after you nearly hit me with the ball today I don't deny it's probably a better job for you than being a player."

"Oh Pheebs," he recoiled clutching his right hand to his left chest. "You cut me to the quick. Give me a compliment before my heart starts bleeding all over the floor."

Phoebe was ready with one. "You're more of a speaker and an actor, and you're great with numbers besides. I think you'd do great in business. I can see all of Wall Street bowing to the cunning intellect of Gerald Johanssen, Esquire."

"Now I think we're just getting into some crazy ideas Pheebs. I can do business, but I got no love for it. What good 's a job where you got talent and no passion?"

"So acting then? Or public storytelling? A librarian perhaps? You'd still get to do work with kids, and you could share stories all day long."

"I'll look into that." He said with a wistful smile.

* * *

The evening passed with more talk. Phoebe found herself so occupied with her conversation that she failed to notice when the bartender, now swamped with customers and unable to keep every micro-detail of Phoebe's list straight, started giving her drinks with more than her requested measures of alcohol. After another hour of talking, while sipping not-so-virgin drinks, Phoebe's face was beginning to turn red and her giggles gave way to paroxysms of laughter.

Gerald took a sip of his third drink and set it down with a little concern for his giggling friend.

"Hey Pheebs, I think maybe you've had enough."

The normally straight-as-an-arrow Phoebe, despite being significantly inebriated, set down her drink and nodded. Her ears were so swamped with noise that if she were to attempt to assent through speech she'd most likely find herself shouting. The only problem was she didn't know if the near deafness she felt was from the noises made by the boisterous atmosphere of the other diners and drinkers, or the thundering of her pulse in her own ears. She jerked her head a little too excessively toward the door, and Gerald nodded in assent.

Despite the visceral feeling of nausea that suggested the bartender had failed to fulfill her request as she had made it, Phoebe made sure to leave the generous tip she promised. As the two friends made their way outside, with Gerald holding Phoebe under his arm to keep her steady, Phoebe decided to take advantage of the close contact and snuggled in closer to her escort. So hard did she press against him, the couple started drifting toward the street.

"Hey Pheebs, I know a guy with a cab. Doesn't matter where he is in the city, a call right now and he'll be here in ten minutes to get you to your place. I swear the guy is so good he probably has a secret tunnel network to get around."

She nodded and winced as she felt a jostle inside her skull from the forward and backward motion.

"That's probably for the best," she agreed. Then she gave pause and issued a minor challenge. "Wait. You don't intend to just stick me in a cab late at night and hope that I'll just get to my room do you?"

Gerald, who had his cell in hand and was busy dialing, drew up and pondered a moment, then drew in his puckered lips as he continued to dial. After making the arrangement, he hung up and turned to address Phoebe.

"I'll make sure you get to your room. Don't worry, I may not be a prince, but I know how to treat a lady."

She smiled and leaned – fell – forward into his chest. She looked up at him and said suggestively.

"You always did."

True to his word, Gerald's friend swung by the curb inside of ten minutes and drove them to Phoebe's hotel so fast it seemed they had only just fastened their seat belts when they stopped in front of the hotel atrium. Gerald paid his friend and helped Phoebe through the door, nodding to the bellhop as they went. The ride in the elevator passed with Phoebe closing her eyes, resting her head against the side of Gerald's chest, and swaying ever so slightly to the sound of the elevator music. She had found that keeping a simple harmonic motion prevented the more uncomfortable side-effects of the alcohol from afflicting her. He helped her down the hall until they reached her door. Phoebe straightened herself enough to pull out her key card and use it to unlock the door. She turned the handle, but as she edged the door open she paused. Gerald wasn't sure what was going on, but waited for her to finish whatever she needed to do. As he stood there, Phoebe's mind, though still swimming, was running through a host of hypothetical scenarios about what she should do next. She could just turn around and tell him thanks for a great night, then go in, shower, and go to bed. She could invite him in and continue talking, or watch some movies like they did as teenagers, or do some of the other things they had done as teenagers...

For the first time that day Phoebe wasn't sure what she should do or say or how a given choice would pan out. Logically she needed the sleep to be ready for her day tomorrow, but there was no denying she was having a wonderful time in Gerald's company, and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself as well. Even so, what were his thoughts right now? If she said goodnight would it hurt his feelings? If she invited him in, would he act the gentleman and decline? Would he be the best friend and stay for a while and then leave? Or would he be more like what he used to be?

All this flashed through Phoebe's mind in an instant, and though she wasn't entirely sure that her judgment was sound at the moment, she made a decision on the fly.

"Why don't you come in," she said.

Gerald's eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly and he seemed to hesitate just a moment, but then he nodded and Phoebe opened the door to admit the two of them. The suite wasn't ostentatious, Phoebe was a girl of simple tastes, but the room was easily comfortable for the two occupants. Seating themselves on the couch, Phoebe and Gerald surfed the hotel's movie options and decided to watch Toy Story 3. Gerald grimaced as he looked around the room while the movie started.

"Dang Pheebs. Look at us. Like rank amateur movie watchers." She began to smile and shake her head. He looked at her with a face that was half serious, half joking. "For real Pheebs. I mean when we were in high school we were pros at casual movie viewing. By the time we sat down to a movie, we had soda, popcorn, Tex-Mex, Pocky sticks, and Jelly Bellys. I mean we had a _system_, we had _standards_, and we were _talented_. If our younger selves could see us now."

Phoebe took a moment to mull that thought around in her head.

_If our younger selves could see us now..._

"Well, if you'd like, we can pause the movie and try to find a convenience store before we go any further. I'm not thrilled about microwaveable popcorn, and I doubt if we'd be able to find Pocky sticks, but we could improvise."

Gerald smiled. "Nah, we got the three most important ingredients," he said as he settled back into his seat. "The movie, the couch, and us."

Phoebe looked askance at him and smiled before settling into her little spot next to him. Even as teenagers he'd been tall enough that she could fit underneath his arm while lying down, and wriggling her way back into that position now brought her a great deal of comfort and nostalgic fondness. As the movie played on, Phoebe's head started to clear a little from the earlier drinking, although her senses were now dulled by the late hour and the slight jet-lag more than the lingering buzz. Even so, between the humorous lines of the movie, she found her mind settling on the earliest scene where the boy Andy was deciding whether to take his favorite childhood toys with him to college. She herself had left a lot of her life behind in Queens when her family moved back to Kentucky, much like Andy had left his old friends behind. Sitting next to her now was one of the things she had missed most these past few years, and being near him made her feel all manner of strange feelings and caused her to recall so many things from the past.

_If our younger selves could see us now_...

As the movie ended, Gerald stretched his arms over his head and made one tight squeeze with his eyes before opening them again and blinking fast to shake the sleep from them. He turned to look down at Phoebe as she angled her head to look up at him.

"Gerald..." she intoned.

"Phoebe..." he echoed.

After that, there were no more words spoken, since there were no tongues free to make speech, and no mouths left uncovered.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is the part where you make a comment about the story. I know you can do it. Just push the button and say that you: - you hated it, - liked it, - thought it needs touching up, - think the plot should go somewhere else... or you can be creative and say something else.

And thanks for reading.


	4. Morning

**MORNING**

**Author's note:** Hope everyone is enjoying the story. A special thanks to loonytunecrazy, acosta perez jose ramiro, and sssweetie. This one's for you three.

* * *

Morning came abruptly as the discordant ring jarred Phoebe from her comforting oblivion of sleep. As she reached over to lift the phone from the receiver, her movement was slowed by the presence of an arm encircling her. She worked her own arm out from the snare, picked up the phone, and replaced it on the switchhook to silence it. She then settled her head back into the soft pillow and held that ensnaring arm against her chest.

Even in sleep, there was firmness to his touch, but it was the firmness of an adoring partner who wanted to feel her warmth and proximity while providing the same for her. More than anything in the world – aside from rolling over and waking him up to do more of what they'd done last night – Phoebe wanted to stay there in that embrace and let the world just roll on by. Alas, she knew she had no recourse to such luxury, and after giving his hand one tight squeeze, and planting a kiss in his palm, she slipped out from underneath the covers and wandered from the bed to the bathroom where she turned on the shower.

She did her stretches and breathing exercises for a minute beside the tub to clear her head and begin to work through the moderate hangover she was feeling as she allowed the water to settle on a temperature that wasn't scalding or freezing. With her mind somewhat rejuvenated, she stepped into the tub and drew the curtain as the shower continued to run. She preceded to soak down her hair and body, washing away the vestiges of the previous night. She could physically as well as mentally feel the imprints of last night's activities being rinsed off of her and circling the drain. It gave her a feeling of liberation, like being reborn, and yet she felt melancholy that it was taking place. Some of these feelings she had no desire to expunge, and the very act of rinsing them off her person called to mind memories of other showers that had similarly rid her of these physical and mental imprints. They too had been missed when the bathing had ended.

She turned off the shower and stood in the tub for a moment as the water continued to circle the drain and drips fell from her hair as it hung down past her shoulders. Phoebe's sharp mind felt mired in the melancholy of her situation. Gerald Johanssen, the boy she had been best friends with all her childhood, and intimately shared herself with, was now in the other room blissfully slumbering off last night's revelry, and in less than half an hour Phoebe would walk out the hotel room door and begin another day in her life. And it was a life that was too busy, too random, and too confusing to include him. Once again Phoebe felt like crying at hearing her mind reach such a sad and unwelcome truth. This time she accumulated enough tears that she came close to letting them fall. But as usual her veneer of Japanese stoicism prevented her from going so far as weeping.

She drew back the curtain and grabbed a towel, which she immediately applied to her damp hair, drawing slowly out from the scalp, making sure not to ruffle any of the strands and complicate the process of tying it up in a bun later. She turned to face the mirror as she did this, and though she was not particularly self conscious about her nudity she paused for a minute to analyze her body in a new light; as though she was seeing herself for the first time. Her physique was short and wispy, and though not particularly well-endowed, it was undeniably attractive. She found herself imagining what a man like Gerald would think of her. What of that long hair? Those gentle eyes? That smooth skin? Her thoughts expanded on the concept and she imagined Gerald standing there with her, looking her up and down. She further imagined what it would look and feel like to have his well-muscled arms wrapping around her, one arm crossing her abdominals with the hand resting on her hip, the crossing her chest with the hand cupping one smooth breast. Her eyelids grew heavy as she imagined the feeling. Her thoughts went deeper, and she imagined his chest flush against her back, and his heart languidly pulsing against her skin.

For a few precious minutes she lost herself in the fantasy, imagining what it would be like to pick up her phone and call everyone else that was making demands of her time today, and tell every one of them that she had another engagement. It was wonderful thinking what it would be like to live a full day in these few rooms, just her and Gerald. They would talk, they would joke, cuddle, order some food, watch movies, make love...

And then Phoebe recalled why it was her mind could so quickly configure these images.

_We've been here before._ She recalled. _We had the fantasy, the possibility of just us, and we were smart enough to know it was impossible. It will be no different now._

* * *

After drying the rest of her body, Phoebe wrapped the towel around herself and left the bathroom to grab her duffel bag. Yet, when she opened the door and saw Gerald still snoring peacefully with his back toward her, Phoebe found no reason – or desire – to go and dress in the other room. Thus she immediately set to work preparing herself. She languidly pulled on her underwear and fixed the clasp of her bra behind her back. Then as she crossed her kimono-like shirt over her bra, she heard a rustle in the bed behind her. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she continued with her routine. Only when she finished tying the shirt at her hip did he speak.

"I don't want you to go."

"Gerald, my job..."

"Not that. I mean, I don't want you to leave for that either, but I meant I don't want you to go later, when your meetings and lectures are all over. When you're done here and you have to go back to your job in Japan and all the other mishmash of work you do. I want you to not go."

She sighed. "Gerald, you know this is who I am and what I do."

"Phoebe I don't know what this is for you, but I'm not a guy who carves notches on his belt or bedpost. You knew that about me way back when, and I haven't changed."

"Gerald you and I..." she paused a moment in the act of pulling up her skirt. "...that was a long time ago."

"It started long time ago. Did it really end there too?"

She turned around as she began to fasten the skirt with a belt. When she turned around to face him, her face had a look that bordered on feral hostility. Her eyes were starting to fill with tears again. "You know it didn't."

He sighed. "OK, it's been a long time... a REALLY long time... and last time we were in this kind of situation we made a choice that neither of us wanted to make... even if it was the right one at the time. But we're here now, and we aren't kids anymore. So I say we pick up from where we left off. Let's make it right this time." He persisted.

"Make it right this time? By doing what Gerald? Should I tell all those people that I can't make it and get fired from my job? Or should I quit my job and move here? Or should I ask you quit the things you're doing and try to come with me on all the crazy trips I take? We aren't teenagers anymore and we can't depend on teenage fantasies to carry us through this. There's no circus for people our age to run off to."

"Pheebs I never wanted to lose you."

"You think I DID?"

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"Gerald, intention isn't as relevant as action. And like it or not, intended or not, I WAS hurt. I AM hurt. You knew I was leaving… the next morning no less!"

She ran her hands through her hair and started to tie it up behind her head. She should've been doing it in front of a mirror, but the only one available was in the bathroom, and even though she couldn't bear to turn around and look at Gerald, she had no desire to go into the other room and leave him. As she set to work, he sat up and turned his back to her as he pulled on his boxers and T-shirt. Throwing his legs over the other edge of the bed he stood up, snatched his pants off the shoulder rest on the couch where he'd thrown them and finished attiring himself. When he was fully dressed, and Phoebe was adjusting the position of her watch, and getting ready to go apply appropriate makeup and perfume, he issued a challenge in a voice that was more hurt than harsh.

"So I should have just stayed away then? Just let you go without seeing you one last time? 'So long'... 'have a nice life'? Is that what I should do again here and now?"

Gerald regretted snapping at her the moment his words had escaped his throat.

"Gerald," she took a deep breath and spoke in carefully measured tones. "What we had back then... and what we had last night... I don't regret either experience, and I don't resent you for it. You were you, and I was me, and we were together, and they were wonderful times, both of them. And I wish they would go on and on. I thought of it this morning while you slept and held me. But ten years ago and last night are both over. And right now I have to meet with the curator from the Noguchi in less than an hour, then have lunch with the Executive Board from the Hall of Science, and after all of that I still have to give my lecture at the QMA tonight. And then _tomorrow_ I have a flight at 8:00... Nothing about this situation is easy..."

"So make a part of it simple if not easy." Gerald interjected. "Invite me to your lecture. Ask me if I want to go for a bite to eat when it's over..."

"Gerald please..." _Yes I would like that_.

"I'll wear something a little more formal. See if I can even come close to matching you in classiness."

"...don't..." _Do._

"We'll talk, go walking, share thoughts about trivial topics that we'll pretend are important to us."

"...stop..." _Tell me more._

"We'll stay up all night, watching movies, eating junk food, we'll fall asleep on the couch or in bed, and just enjoy each other's company..."

"I said STOP!" Phoebe exploded. This time her inner thoughts would not compete with her speech. Gerald, for his part, was so stunned by the explosion he had to take a step back. Phoebe continued before he had a chance to interject something again.

"We're not teenagers anymore, Gerald. We're not classmates, or pen pals, or colleagues, or even... people who shop at the same grocery store or… stand at the same bus stop or... get coffee at the same café... there's nothing in either of our lives that overlaps anymore." She stopped to breathe and cover her eyes were her hand. She didn't want to make this worse by crying.  
"We're just... two, old friends who parted ways a long time ago... and made some hasty decisions that left a mark on this relationship."

She had to clench her jaw, but her lips were already drooping down and starting to quiver.

"I never wanted it to be this way. I never wanted to leave you and I never wanted us to stop seeing and being with each other. But this is the way it is. And it's… it's hard for me, Gerald. God I can't even begin to tell you how hard it is for me. I can't... I can't get through a day anymore without looking at an old picture, or thinking about you and me together, and remembering when we were young and... how nice it was to be together. And I c-can't _think_ about those days without remembering how sad and regretful and _angry_ I've felt with how it ended."  
She stopped to cover her eyes again. She was quivering from head to toe and trying with all of her might to stop the deluge of emotions that threatened to pour out. For his part, Gerald's shoulders sagged, and though he wanted to take her in her arms and comfort her, he knew she would retreat from him if he came forward.

"G-Gerald, I've never asked a great deal of you. But I'm asking you please... please try to understand me and let this be what it needs to be. I know it hurts. It's always hurt, and I don't know if this is a wound that time is going to heal. But these are our lives now. Please tell me that you understand."

He stepped forward and made to put an arm around her, but when she cringed he withdrew and let his arm hang at his side.

"I understand." He said in an even tone.

She exhaled a _thank you_ and proceeded with her routines. He walked past the bathroom door. With a mutter of _show myself out_, followed by a click, a swing, and a resonant locking sound, he was gone.

* * *

After he left, Phoebe had to pause another moment. She then had to work with every fiber of her being to force herself to finish the task at hand. The whole time she worked, she was beset by screams within her mind telling her to run out the door and chase him down, grab him in the tightest embrace she could muster, and tell him she didn't want them to leave each other ever again.

_Once before... now again?_ She thought somberly.

In the end, it was her rational, business-oriented thinking that won out over the inner clamor. The model of efficacy and controlled demeanor, Phoebe received her scheduled breakfast service at the door at 8:00, finished her meal and flossed and brushed thoroughly. After packing the last of her things, she departed from the room and left her duffel with the concierge as she set out to begin her day.

In every moment, and in every well choreographed and seemingly purposeful gesture, she was on autopilot. Her mind couldn't and wouldn't rid itself of the pain. She had no doubt that if not for the stoicism she learned from her father, she would have been crying every minute.

* * *

**Author's note:** The story is nearly over. I invite you to tell me what you think.


	5. Evening

**EVENING**

Hey again everyone. Just had several weeks of grueling tests to take care of. That and writing essays for graduate applications can really take a toll on you.

Anyway, just finished fine-tuning this last installment, and I'm thankful for everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Hope everyone continues to enjoy this story.

Happy Thanksgiving!

* * *

The room was remarkably elegant. Famous artists and critics had come in from all over the city, dolled up in their most stunning outfits, eager to admire the artwork, laugh at each other's weak jokes, and bask in the self-fueled glow of their own self-importance.

Phoebe never really cared much for these functions because of just how many wolves-in-sheep's-clothing there were. The pretentious atmosphere had always proven too uncomfortable to warrant any particular enjoyment. Still, she had a role to play, and though she still felt melancholy about the earlier events of the day, she was committed to playing her part in the gala and keeping her personal grievances from affecting the atmosphere of the museum, or the presentation she was about to give.

Phoebe was, as per usual, dressed with absolute precision to deliver her presentation with looks as well as words. Her hair, though not curly like most of the noble women depicted in Late Roman Republican art, was set atop her head in a disc that allowed strands to dangle behind her head and near her ears to evoke some of the pop culture ideas of women in the ancient Mediterranean region. She had shunned her glasses for this presentation and settled on contacts, though they caused her great discomfort and gave her eyes a physical impetus to tear up. In conjunction with her emotional impetus it was a recipe for disaster, but she had long since chosen to forgo her own comforts for the sake of her work.

She had carefully chosen a gown to evoke the motifs of the Italian peninsula. The white chiton she wore was overlaid with a purple himation with some encrusted glitter to give her clothes a slight iridescence and other-worldliness. Any group she walked by seemed to open a gap in its ring, seeking to invite her in. She smiled at everyone, but felt that she should just get closer the podium and prepare her presentation. If nothing else it would allow her a short reprieve from all that she'd been through earlier.

_I wonder if gala sub-groups can be compared to phagocytic cellular processes or hormonal receptors?_ She pondered as she walked by. _A free-floating body moves nearby, an opening appears, and the body is enticed to enter and become incorporated with the host organism._ One more bit of applied research she thought of looking into in the coming years.

She made her way to the podium and began toying with her side bag. Everything had already been set up, so this once-over was rather unnecessary, but it gave Phoebe an excuse to be alone. Before she knew it, the time had come, and the curator stepped forward to introduce the research, the expert involvement of the presenter Ms. Heyerdahl, and the gratitude of the museum to the Japan International Cooperation Agency. Phoebe ascended the podium amid a tepid round of applause from the floor, but she didn't mind. The subject was not one of great interest among most of the people present, even though it was for such work that they were contributing hundreds of thousands of dollars to the upkeep of the museum and the financing of such endeavors to preserve cultural and artistic history.

She settled into her place on the podium and proceeded to outline the basic aims of the research team and what it meant to the continuing research about the transition of artistic – and consequently social, religious, political and even military – practices among the ancient Romans. She noticed only a few members of the crowd listening intently, and she reminded herself that they were probably university professors of Art History, or Political Science. Still the suave nature of her speech, the shy glances she gave to members of the audience, and the imagery evoked by her choice of attire conspired to keep a great majority of the gala attendants looking her way, if not engrossed in the talk.

* * *

As she neared the end of her speech and focused on acknowledging the more in-depth, and continuing, research of the Italian archaeologists with whom she'd worked, Phoebe's glance traveled around the gala, trying to give every listener a feeling that she was speaking directly to them. She found time and again that this proved to be the best way to end a presentation. Then in the process of addressing the room, and its individuals, her eyes came to a point not far from the entrance of the museum where she espied a tall figure wearing an onyx buttoned-down without a tie, and a creased pair of khaki slacks over a pair of black, leather dress shoes. He wasn't as stiff or richly adorned as the other men in the hall, but the combination of colors from his clothes and skin, and his towering height, rendered him quite dashing. Phoebe's speech veered off for a moment, as she appraised him. He smiled.

Phoebe quickly recovered and carried on. Though she wanted to keep the ending pace slow enough to give the chief investigators of Rome their due in this study, she wanted more than anything else at that moment for her speech to end so she could get down off that podium. In what felt like both an eternity, and yet almost no time at all, she found herself saying:

"And that ladies and gentlemen, concludes my presentation. Thank you all very much."

She was met with a more enthusiastic round of applause as she descended from the dais, leaving the podium to the curator who continued to address the attendants. As Phoebe made her way through the crowd, she was assaulted by a wave of mawkish attendants who showered her with praises over a subject she sincerely doubted most of them even understood. She politely thanked them and excused herself, not wanting to allow the unexpected guest at the back of the room to have second thoughts and try to abscond.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" She asked as soon as she cleared the gauntlet.

"What am I doing..." Gerald mused somberly with his eyes down and his full lips in a pensive pout. "Well I looked at my calendar around five this afternoon and saw that I didn't have school, or coaching, or anything else tonight or tomorrow, and when I thought about what I could do, I came up with a couple options.

"One," and for emphasis he placed the index finger of his left hand on the same finger of his right hand, "go shoot some hoops by myself.

"Two," he now bent his right middle finger under the left index as well, "call up some friends to go hang out.

"Or three…" he grasped his left index finger with the fingers of his right hand, "…sneak into a VIP art lecture-slash-fundraiser-slash... whatever-this-is, and convince the most amazing person I ever have or ever will know that I don't want us to go our separate ways again."

He pursed his lips and nodded his head.

"I'll admit it took me almost five full seconds to decide which of those choices made the most sense."

"Gerald..."

"No Pheebs, I'm not letting you get the first say this time. You'll come up with an argument to prove why I'm being irrational, sophomoric or just plain stupid, then my reasons will sound even more childish than they already do, and we'll just be left in the same place we were this morning and that's not where I want us to be and I don't think you want us to be there either. So please just let me say what I want to say."

He took another breath and began. She didn't make any attempt to interject.

"Phoebe, I know we have a history that's, among other things, filled with a long interlude of silence. And right now we're each doing our own thing. I'm here teaching and coaching. And you, you're..." he looked down and away for a second and began to grin before meeting her eyes again and proceeding. "You're a ship with no anchor and every square yard of sail rigged girl. I mean every wave, every gust of wind, every current below your hull... all of it pulls you every which way. I know the situation isn't easy. In fact, I've really only been able to find one part of it that could possibly be called 'easy'. But those facts aside, I don't want us to just go our separate ways and say that that's OK and it's just what it is."

"Gerald…" she stopped to think for a moment, but as he opened his mouth to continue she was able to structure her thoughts and beat him to it.  
"There were some wonderful times Gerald, I know. There are some memories that I'll carry with me forever, and happily so. But like you say... hi thank you..." her reply was cut off by the intrusion of an elegant woman tapping her on the shoulder and complimenting her on her talk.

When the woman had moved on, Phoebe resumed. "...like you say, we're in different places now. You're here making your mark, I'm... I'm going to places all over the world, all the time. There's no one else who lives my kind of life, and god forbid anyone should even try to keep up with me..."

"Pheebs," he interposed. "I'm not asking you to have me live your life. No more than I'm asking you to live mine. You're the smartest person I know, and if you think what you're doing is what's right for Phoebe then it must be right for Phoebe. All I want is for Phoebe to be a _part_ of Gerald's life, and I'm asking Phoebe to let Gerald be a part of _her life_. And I don't mean as a few fond memories and some photos in your bag. I want us to be flesh and blood people for each other. I want to be the person you call when your plane lands so you can tell me you're safe. I want to be the person you turn to when the going gets rough because you know I'll support you and believe in you. I want to be the person who'll share your successes and failures with equally because you know what matters to you matters to me too.

"That's what I want to be for you, and I want you to be the same for me."

Phoebe had wanted to give a rejoinder, but found at this point she could only stare wide-eyed. Gerald always had a knack for eloquence and sophisticated debate and public speaking, but he had just about outdone himself with this.

"And I know we can't see each other every day, or be together whenever, but we can make something work. You can call me or write me, and we can see each other through the computer, and find times to meet whenever you're in town or within… maybe two hundred miles given my current state of finances."

A rich giggle found its way through her stoic countenance.

"Phoebe..." he paused and couldn't stifle a grin of his own. "All right girl, you let me make my foolish, half-baked case and didn't interrupt... so thanks. Now you say something. What are you thinking?"

She tightened her lips and smiled. Her cheeks bunched up under her eyes and tears started to edge to the corners. Another moment in this fantasy he'd built for her and she knew they would start falling.

"Gerald, you make it all sound so plausible... so charmingly sweet..." and then her lips started to droop and her eyes cast themselves downwards. "But be realistic, how can that work? Different time zones, crazy schedules and commitments... and tell me, honestly, in this already wildly complicated scenario, what part of it is easy? I mean this is like something out of some crazy romantic-comedy. Real people in situations like this can't keep..."

"I love you Phoebe."

Phoebe had to catch herself on that one. The slight smile that she still kept on her lips suddenly fell, her eyes went wide and she nearly fell over in a swoon. She mentally noted that if she hadn't done her breathing before the presentation, and been riding a high from the success of the talk, she would probably now be on the floor. As it was, she stumbled to the side and Gerald shot out to grab her, even though she had stabilized herself before she had actually suffered a fall. Holding her in his forearms she found that he had also grasped her hand with his own. She looked down at his strong, dark hand as it held her delicate, white digits. She could feel the tenderness behind the firmness of his touch. Looking up she saw the resolve and earnestness in his eyes, and she _knew_, beyond any shadow of a doubt, he was telling her the truth. His dark eyes were warm and tender, and his face, though marked by his characteristic calmness of demeanor, was clearly filled with trepidation at being so forward with his feelings. He was terrified that this could go wrong, but even so, he was being brave and speaking his mind.

Keeping her eyes fixed with his, Phoebe slowly straightened up, holding both of his hands in her own just inches in front of her hammering heart.

"You... you mean that?" She knew the answer, but she couldn't deny herself this little vanity of wanting to hear him say more.

"With all of my being, and all that I have to give, feel or show in this world. I love you Phoebe Heyerdahl."

He stepped forward and took her in his arms. When she returned the embrace he lifted her bodily into the air and her smile was augmented with a giggle. A few gala attendants looked at them with scandalous expressions, but neither Phoebe nor Gerald paid any mind to them. He set her down, and though she desperately wanted her lips and his to become reacquainted, she had enough sense of public propriety to indulge in nothing further than a hug.

When they came apart, they clasped hands together again and their eyes found each other.

"Do you have anything more here?" he asked. "Any toasts you gotta give or people you need to meet?"

She did. The gala fundraiser had been arranged months ago, but as the main attraction of the evening, she would no doubt be subject to a great many toasts, dances and invitations to talk, share and further extrapolate on her experiences in this project and the other work she was involved in. And yet, for the first time – in a very long time – Phoebe felt she really had something that was more important for her to attend to than her work.

She shook her head.

Gerald knew she was lying, but seeing the smile on her face he couldn't bring himself to suggest they stay for the sake of appearances. "How about we go grab a bite?"

She smiled. "Parkside?"

Gerald let go of one hand as he turned sideways and extended his elbow. "Sounds like a plan."

"Let me just grab my bag. Will you wait for me?"

He smirked. "Always and forever."

Her heart thundered as she let go of his hand. She raced through the crowd, exclaiming _excuse me_ and _pardon me_ the whole way. She quickly collected her laptop, bag and overcoat and drew a pair of sneakers from the bag as she made her way back through the crowd in the opposite direction.

She was back at his side in less than two minutes.

Phoebe and Gerald made their way to the museum entrance and said _good night_ to the volunteer docent that stood at the doorway. The docent wished them well, but before they could get clear of the door, the curator came running up behind them, spluttering all the way.

"Ms. Heyerdahl! Ms. Heyerdahl!" Only when she caught up to Phoebe and her tall associate did she stop and catch her breath. "Surely... (gasp)... surely you're not leaving now? We'll be toasting to the success of your project in only a few minutes."

Walking out of a party for which she had a special role to play was something Phoebe had never done before, and she had been silently praying that she'd get through the doors without being caught. Under any other circumstances she would never renege on such a kind invitation, even if it was a party she didn't care for. But given the current situation she would forgive herself this breech of conduct, and she hoped the curator would forgive her too.

"I'm sorry, but I think the success of this project belongs to the people who are sticking with it. And I'm sorry to be leaving so soon, but there is an... important matter to which I must attend."

"More important than your own GALA?"

Phoebe looked to Gerald and smiled before turning back.

"I'm very sorry, but it is. Thank you so much for the lovely evening, but I must go. My best wishes to all the guests. Good night." And with that she turned on her heel, grabbed Gerald by his shirt front and dragged him out the door. The curator for her part, though flummoxed by the abruptness of the departure of her primary VIP, accepted it with good grace, and after taking a moment to straighten herself out, returned to the main hall and the perplexed group of attendants that stood waiting for the guest of honor that had left so suddenly.

The evening proceeded without further disturbance or incident.

* * *

When they got clear of the museum entrance, Phoebe stopped a moment to kneel down, strip off her heels, and slip on her sneakers. Gerald just looked at the whole process with a quizzical expression.

"You just carry a pair of sneakers around in your bag whenever you go to a ball or museum?"

She gave him a mischievous look. "You'd be amazed what I have to do in my line of work."

"I'm sure I would." He nodded and offered her his hand to assist her up as she finished tying her laces. She took his hand and stood, but as he started walking, she let go and in one bound hopped up on his back, grabbing his hips with her thighs, sticking her legs out in front, and gripping his shoulders to keep her upright. He staggered a moment in his attempt to right himself.

"So I'm just supposed to carry us both to Parkside?"

"Just to the Zoo Bridge and then I'll walk."

Phoebe knew that the bridge marked the border of the Park and all the museums contained within. It was this man who now carried her that had convinced her to take a reprieve from all the work and responsibilities she had within the park, it seemed fitting to have him help bear her the rest of the way through the Park until she could get outside the borders and walk the streets on her own. Gerald didn't quite pick up on the symbolism that this represented for his unanticipated passenger, but he was willing enough to bear her a few hundred yards until they got to the bridge. So he hiked her up his backside to free up his hips and began to hustle forward. She giggled and he sped up faster and faster.

* * *

Phoebe knew this morning would come, and now, though a handful of resolutions had been reached and some plans and promises had been made, she was still feeling trepidation about leaving. Her mother and father would forgive her spending one more day in New York if they knew it was personal and not for work, but she had made a promise to them, and knew she'd have to be back to her work at headquarters in Tokyo within another couple weeks. No, she had to go. But it was ever so hard to do so. Though last night and the early hours of that morning made going AWOL a particularly interesting option.

Looking at the security check-in lines and noting the time, Phoebe knew she had to hustle, but she wanted to savor every moment she could before needing to race through. For once she didn't think about the crowd movements, the time delays, or the little nuances of the great systems that were in operation all around her. For once she just wanted to let it all roll by and have nothing to do with any of it. Looking up into Gerald's deep brown eyes and seeing him smile caused tears to well up in her eyes.

"You promise me you'll call?" she asked for the fourth time since she'd gotten out of the cab at the terminal entrance.

He gave her his customary 'no worries' grin and embraced her. He held lightly, as was his wont, while she gripped him as though she intended to squeeze his very flesh through their clothes. When she felt she could hug no tighter and sensed her arms would soon give out, she let go and looked up into his eyes again. He too looked distraught at her departure, and yet there was a look in his eyes that said he was at peace with the situation.

"Not every day. I don't want you getting tired of hearing me."

She gave an exasperated huff and grabbed his head to bring their lips together. His kiss came sweet and sure.

"Well, at least four times a week then." He said as their lips parted.

She laughed and hugged him again. He walked with her to the official, where she handed him her passport and allowed her to pass. She felt so reluctant then to leave that she turned around and stood there staring at her man while the other air travelers continued to file through the gate. Gerald squeezed her hand and mouthed _I love you_. Phoebe's demeanor broke and her tears began to flow. Gerald reached out his hand to wipe them away and she felt herself begin to cry even harder.

"You know Pheebs, I'm trying to keep that beautiful face of yours tear-free and I have to say you're... well kind of confounding the effort."

The sob that had been building in her throat broke free as a laugh. She grabbed his cleaning hand and pulled him close enough to give one last kiss.

When they released, she walked through the gate, glancing occasionally in front of her to make sure she didn't run into anyone, but constantly looking back at Gerald. He started walking backwards, nearly clipping a few people with his elbows as he went, but never letting his eyes leave her. Only when she had to turn and go through the TSA security checkpoint did he turn around and leave. Likewise, she didn't look around again.

As the plane taxied out onto the runway and Phoebe got a last peak at the city she'd called home as a young girl, she felt certain she'd be back again soon.

And, she hoped, the most important part of that city would one day be joined with her indefinitely. Here or there.

* * *

Author: And that's a wrap.


End file.
